Fate is Merciless
by Corbin Slate
Summary: Wounded and at an enemy's mercy. Will Raoul be able to survive what is in store for him? violence but no slash.


Raoul sputtered and gasped loudly for air as he broke the surface of the water once again. Each time he sank and came up for air it took more and more effort. Treading the water was difficult. Surely he was going to drown. What a fate! He couldn't help but wonder if anyone would ever find his body. Perhaps he was doomed to remain in the lake water for the rats and the nasty little fish that called this dismal place home. He fought to remain above the surface as his muscles spasmed with fatigue.

Raoul was tired. His muscles burned, wanting nothing more than to stop and rest. Raoul sucked in a breath and sank beneath the surface of the water once more. He wasn't sure that he was going to have the strength to get to air this time, but he had nothing to cling to and rest, and he could not tread water a moment longer.

He felt something latch onto the fabric of his shirt, pulling upward, followed by a firm grip on his right arm. Raoul choked as he breached the surface of the water. He felt someone guiding his weak hands to the edge of a boat. Raoul did not have the strength to haul his body from the water, and he grunted as someone gripped his belt and flung him into the boat like a large fish. He coughed up a bit of lake water and lay in the boat glad to be able to breathe freely.

"I suppose that it is fortunate for both of us that she cares for you, boy."

Raoul did not look up at the man who was speaking to him. He recognized the voice, and knew that it meant he was in great danger. Where was his sword? Did he even have the strength to lift it and fight if he needed to? Raoul's hand shook as he reached toward his sword. The scabbard was empty. Had he lost his weapon in the fall? Raoul couldn't remember. The boat rocked back and forth as Raoul struggled to get to his feet. He grunted when a boot pushed him back into the deck and held him there.

"Unless you wish to drown, I suggest that you be still. Idiot."

Raoul's fingers clutched at the fine leather of the boot which pinned him to the deck of the gondola. He shivered, the cool water from the lake and the damp air had started to sink in to his tired frame. Raoul shut his eyes to rest for a moment; he started when he felt hands grip him roughly by the waist and haul him from the gondola onto the banks of the shore. Raoul struggled to keep his feet under him, staggering and leaning heavily into the Phantom's body because he no longer seemed to have the power to hold himself upright. Tension consumed Raoul's body, he expected to be thrown to the ground and dispatched at any moment. After all this man was his enemy, wasn't he?

He followed the hands that guided him to the dry shore, letting him rest on his side in the damp sand. Blearily, Raoul blinked. The Phantom stood, watching him for a moment, but he never spoke. There was fresh, angry heat coming from Raoul's wounded shoulder, but he wasn't able to tell if he was bleeding or not. Finally the Phantom stalked away, leaving him lying alone on the shore. Raoul rested for a short while before forcing his body to his knees. He sat on his heels, giving his vision a moment to clear and got to his feet with a grunt of effort. He stumbled shakily toward the boat.

This had been a horrible idea! Raoul had thought that perhaps by coming and confronting the Phantom he could convince the Opera Ghost that Christine had already given her heart away. The trap door had dropped him and his plans of confrontation out before he had even had a chance to get a word in. Raoul had tread water in that dismal chamber for what seemed like an endless period of time. When the Phantom had come, Raoul wasn't even sure where he had come from. He hadn't seen a passageway for the boat to pass through, but then the Phantom didn't announce every available avenue in the opera house.

Raoul's boots sank in the mud as he drew nearer to the water. "Where are you off to so soon, Vicomte?" Raoul shook with the effort that it took to stay on his feet. "I doubt you have the power in you to get into the boat, let alone row back to shore," the Phantom said.

His legs would bear his weight no longer and Raoul dropped roughly to his knees in the mud. He tried to force himself to get up and almost succeeded in falling face first into the mud. He fell to his side and lay there, panting with exhaustion. He listened to the lapping of the lake as he waited. What he was waiting for he wasn't exactly sure. It was going to take several hours of rest and food for him to regain any measure of strength to defend himself. Perhaps all he waited for was the punjab lasso to tighten over his throat and strangle him to death.

Raoul's eyes drifted shut of their own accord, and he vaguely heard the sound of footsteps coming toward him, before all was quiet.

Raoul could feel the clean linen sheets beneath his fingers long before he had the desire to open his eyes and look around. Perhaps someone from the theater had found him and dragged him home to dress his wounds. He moved to stretch his legs a little and was greeted by the clang of a chain. He stared blankly for a few seconds before he realized what that meant. His left foot was chained to the metal bed frame, shackled at the ankle. Ah, so that meant that he had not made it home. Why then was he not dead?

Not only had he not been killed, but Raoul had been cleaned and dressed in fresh trousers that didn't belong to him. The rest of his clothing: boots, socks, even his shirt were nowhere to be found. Apparently the Phantom hadn't wanted to lend him a clean shirt, which would probably get bloodstains on it anyway from the wound on Raoul's shoulder. The dressing Raoul had hastily fixed to his wound had been changed. There was a little blood soaking through the new bandages, but it looked like a better dressing than the one Raoul had made for himself. He reached over with his right hand and gently peeked under the bandages.

"I didn't expect you to wake so soon."

Raoul jerked at the sound of the Phantom's voice, pushing himself up on his elbows so that he could better see what was going on. His wounded shoulder protested the strain, and he had to lay back after only a few moments.

"Your bandage needs changing," the Phantom said softly as he carried an armful of items into the room with him. He set fresh bandages, a few clean towels and basin of clean water on the nightstand near Raoul's bed.

"I can do it myself," Raoul said.

The Phantom gave him a small smile. "Can you really?" Raoul looked away. The Phantom left the room to grab a chair to leave in Raoul's room. He set the chair near the nightstand and then left the room once more. This time he didn't return for several minutes.

When the Phantom came back into the room Raoul sat up on his uninjured elbow and watched as the man stirred something in a small teacup. The Phantom offered the cup and saucer to Raoul, who stared at it for several seconds. Hesitantly Raoul took the cup and gave the contents a sniff. He knew it was some sort of tea, but what kind he wasn't sure. "Drink all of it," the Phantom ordered.

Raoul gave the stuff a tiny taste, and found that with the herb like taste there was something else... something bitter and familiar, but Raoul couldn't place it. "This is awful," Raoul said with a wince as he pulled the cup from his lips.

"Yes, well there are worse things than my tea." Raoul noticed the man reaching beneath his cloak, probably for the punjab noose. It would be easier just to drink the tea than to face the noose, so Raoul finished it without further complaint. When the cup was empty the Phantom took it and set it down on the floor near Raoul's nightstand.

The warm liquid in Raoul's stomach felt pleasant, though he would never admit that aloud. He rested his good hand on his stomach, and left the other at his side as he began to feel drowsy. When the Phantom started to remove Raoul's soiled bandages there were no words of protest from the young Vicomte; Raoul had fallen asleep.

When Raoul woke he was surprised to find the Phantom sitting in the chair near his bedside. The man in the mask looked grouchy, so Raoul kept quiet, thinking that if the Phantom wanted to talk about something he could start the conversation himself.

"I have bad news for you, Vicomte," the Phantom said softly.

Raoul felt his heart quicken a little. Maybe the Phantom had changed his mind about keeping him around after all.

"Your wound is infected."

Raoul frowned. "I see," he said, even though he couldn't see past the bandages. He watched the fingers of his wounded arm twitch a little when he commanded them to move.

"If we wait too long to remedy this, the arm will begin to decay and poison the rest of you."

"But it was just a flesh wound," Raoul protested.

"Not anymore," the Phantom said.

"You can't... you're not a doctor!"

The Phantom gave Raoul an emotionless stare. "You doubt that I know the signs? Surely you had some experience with this sort of thing as a sailor."

Raoul shuddered. "I wasn't serving in the sickbay, and I was only twelve."

"Yes, well I can show you the wound if you'd like."

Raoul nodded. He wasn't going to take the Phantom at his word on a matter like this. The Phantom stood and gently began unwrapping the wound. Raoul winced when he saw what the Phantom was talking about. He almost couldn't believe this was reality. "Monsieur, surely there must be something else... a doctor from town could look at it. Maybe," Raoul stopped in the middle of his sentence. The Phantom hadn't interrupted him, just gently covered the wound, hiding it from sight.

"I won't bring a doctor down here, and I doubt he would have a different opinion from the ones we've already formed."

Raoul stared at him. "Let me go home."

The Phantom groaned and ran a hand over the good side of his face. "That is not an option, Vicomte. Stop thinking of escape when there is none."

Raoul went quiet.

"I'm going to light a fire in the hearth and prepare a few things. You should rest."

Raoul watched as the Phantom crossed to a hearth that he hadn't even noticed was in the room and lit the flames. The Phantom placed a iron in the flames and left it, while Raoul tried to pretend that he didn't know what that meant.

It was difficult not to want to yank at the chain around his ankle that kept him a prisoner on the bed. If he could get loose then maybe there was a chance that he could get out of the bowels of the opera house with both arms in tact. Raoul sat up and tore at the chain, trying to free it from the bed frame. The frame didn't creak; hell, it barely moved. It was more solid than he had thought it to be, and he was weaker than usual. Raoul lay back against his pillows to catch his breath. The Phantom made no mention of the useless fit he had just witnessed as he walked into the room with a basin and a large bucket.

"Would you like me to make you some more tea?" The Phantom stood at Raoul's bedside, watching his chest heave with anticipation. Raoul was preparing for an assault that he couldn't evade. At least when he crossed swords with someone, there was a chance they would be wounded just as much as he.

"No."

The Phantom brought Raoul the tea anyway and sat with him until he had drained the cup.

In the background of his thoughts Raoul could hear screams. He wasn't sure exactly what was happening. The tea the Phantom had fed him had made mush out of his brains, and for the time being he was partially in another world. The voice in the back of his head cried out in dire protest. _Stop him!_ Raoul heard his voice murmur a plea. "Monsieur," he slurred. "Please do not do this." Raoul's eyes rolled backward, and he had to fight to stay focused.

Something dark covered his eyes and he heard a voice tell him to remember to breathe. He felt something wrap tightly around his sore arm, just above his wound. It was so tight that in a short period Raoul could just sense the limb buzzing with the sensation of numbness. When he could no longer feel his arm something else touched him. A hand at his good shoulder.

"Bite down on this." Raoul felt a thick wad of cloth press between his teeth and he held it there, but had yet to clench his jaw. "I'll try to be quick."

Raoul bit down on the linen in his mouth to stifle a cry. His arm was numb to the point where he couldn't even have moved it had it not been injured, but the recognition of what was happening hit Raoul in the face like a slap. He tried to struggle, to pry his groggy body off the bed, but he wasn't able to move. Had he been tied aside from the chain around his ankle?

Raoul screamed into the gag when he heard the grate of a saw far too near his ear to be sawing on something wooden and he felt his body jar slightly with each stroke from the blade. The sawing stopped after a few moments, there was a strange tugging sensation at his arm, and he felt it slide away from him and drop. Tears were slipping down Raoul's cheeks, and soaking into the cloth that was covering his eyes.

When he felt the hot fire iron touch the fresh wound, Raoul thought he would die. Not only did his wound sear with pain, but the smell was horrible! For a moment Raoul thought he would throw up, but he took a few deep breaths and was able to calm his stomach. Raoul felt something cool touch his new wound only to be followed by the hot breath of the iron once again.

"All right, the worst of it's over. I just need to sew this up and then I can bandage it."

Raoul noticed how the Phantom was careful not to say "arm". Not an _arm_ any longer... an _it_. Raoul closed his eyes. He listened to the throb of his appendage and the sound of the Phantom humming some new opera tune for awhile until he fell asleep.

When Raoul awoke, the room was dark, lit by only a single taper at his bedside, but he could feel weight from his wounded arm. Had that amputation been a terrible dream? He needed to reach over with his good hand and touch the sore one just to be sure. He pulled at his right hand and found that it was firmly anchored to the belt he was wearing. Why in the hell would someone do that? Raoul struggled to move beneath the blanket he was covered with.

"Calm yourself." Raoul stiffened at the stern voice and was still. "Do you want to pull out your stitches?"

"Why am I bound like this? What did you do?" Raoul's voice nearly cracked with fright.

"You are tied for your own protection, Vicomte. Your new wound will take time to heal."

"No." Raoul felt sick. "This can't be real."

The Phantom stalked over so that he stood near Raoul's bedside. "I can assure you this is real, and you will learn to adjust."

_How?_ Raoul lay back and stared up at the ceiling. "Mon Dieu."

TBC


End file.
